


Born Under Punches

by nitpickyabouttrains



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: But the point remains, M/M, Or really sexy touching with physical fighting, Sex with punching!, So long dear friend, This is your going away present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:29:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitpickyabouttrains/pseuds/nitpickyabouttrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slade would do what he could to pay Oliver back. He would train him, give him a real chance of surviving on this godforsaken sliver of land.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born Under Punches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlameBlownWhiter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlameBlownWhiter/gifts).



> *Takes place after season 1 episode “Dodger"*
> 
> [FlameBlownWhiter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedhipster/pseuds/FlameBlownWhiter), this is your going away present. And also a thing you asked for. And also some sexy times because I did not put any into your Snowflake. 
> 
> Thank you to [angelheadedhipster](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedhipster/pseuds/angelheadedhipster) , as ever, for the beta help.

“Ouch,” Oliver grunted, taking a whack and raising his arms again to deflect the next hit.

Slade did not slow down. He kept attacking, kept going forward. Relentless. They were in a place without compassion, so he would show none. Oliver needed to learn.

Everything about the island was dark and dangerous and filled with hidden threats. Slade had been there long enough to know -  even things which were benign off the island turned terrible, given enough time in this godforsaken place. Terrors lurked around every corner, even when they could not be seen. Nothing could be trusted.

Slade found himself needing a reminder of this sometimes when he was around Oliver.

Oliver Queen was an idiot. There was no question about that. A spoiled brat, entitled, who had never had to work a day in his life. But against all odds, he was turning into a survivor. He did not give up. He had even proved himself a little clever.

And now he was being kind. Slade hardly knew what to do with that. In his mind it was dumb, it was naïve, for Oliver to act like this, to risk himself to save Slade. But he had done it anyway. Oliver had saved Slade’s life, he had taken care of him. Going out of his way, running in the direction of danger, toward the men who were trying to kill them. All for Slade. It made no sense. It was not the sort of thing which happened on the island.

So Slade would do what he could to pay Oliver back. He would train him, give him a real chance of surviving on this godforsaken sliver of land.

“Keep your shoulder back,” Slade advised.

They were fighting now, using the long staffs. Slade circled Oliver slowly, foot behind foot in a careful grapevine. He watched the younger man across from him mimic his hold pattern on the weapon, and his footwork. Oliver looked like an idiot doing it, not natural at all.

Oliver rolled his shoulder back, as instructed, but did not bother asking if that was better. He was learning, at least. Slade would correct him if it was still wrong. But he was fine now. Slade gave a small nod.

He knew Oliver saw it, because he flashed a grin, all sparkling white teeth surrounded by bright red lips. It made him look younger, if that was even possible. Sometimes Slade had to remind himself that the boy he was training was actually a man. He was old enough to vote and to drive, or at least he was back on the mainland, where there were such things as voting and driving. He was old enough to fight for his country as well, and old enough to kill. Even if he did not look like it.

There was something about his hair, Slade thought, that had to be it. It was long, too long, fringing into his eyes and curling into the nape of his neck. Unkempt. It wanted for cutting. More than that, it wanted for fussing over, like he needed someone to take care of him and cut it for him.

Oliver’s eyes too, Slade noted, feinting in with his staff and trading a few swift blows with Oliver. They were so blue, it was almost unreal. Wide and bright and always moving. Eyes like the ocean after a storm, turbulent and dangerous and a cyan deep enough to drown in. They had seen horrors, on this island it was not possible to avoid that, yet they were still untouched. There was still an innocence there, something whole and unbroken and pure, like nothing else on Lian Yu.

Slade was paying too much attention to the way Oliver’s eyes were glowing with determination, because the younger man managed to land a hit on his arm. Slade could not let it go to his head, so he launched into a more complicated combination, which ended with sweeping Oliver’s legs from behind, hitting his knees, and knocking him onto his back.

With Oliver on the ground, Slade went in for the final position, so he could win, so Oliver would have to give and admit defeat. Slade leaned over the prostrate man, holding his staff horizontally, across Oliver’s neck, so it was clear he could choke him if he wanted.

“You win, again,” Oliver said, holding up his hands in defeat. But there was a smile on his face, a real grin.

Normally, when Oliver lost, after he surrendered, Slade would move and let him get up. They would go over what happened and how Oliver could do better next time. But Slade did not move. His eyes narrowed. “You lost. Why do you look so happy?”

“Because I got you, once, and it surprised you.” Oliver practically crowed, red lips pursing with glee.

It had surprised him, Oliver was right. And the look of victory on his face was almost too much for Slade to handle. Oliver looked happy, joyous even. Didn’t he know where they were? Didn’t he know what danger they were in? How could he be so ecstatic? Slade was at once confused and impressed. And maybe a little jealous. He could not remember the last time he had been as happy as Oliver seemed in that moment.

Slade was still in power, even if Oliver had managed a small victory, and he wanted the younger man to know it. He acted before he had a chance to think about it, to run through him mind what he was doing and what it meant. Without pausing to consider, Slade followed his instincts, leaning down further, pressing closer into Oliver on the ground underneath him. Then he kissed Oliver.

It was not a tender kiss, not tentative or careful. It was just an expulsion of energy, hot and wet and passionate.

Slade’s lips seared against Oliver’s, and he found himself surprised again, for the second time that day, when Oliver’s mouth gave underneath his own, opening and willing. Oliver was kissing him back. Tongue against tongue, rough but purposeful.

A jolt of pleasure shot through Slade’s body, starting at the point of contact, at the kiss. Energy surged through him, as if coming straight from Oliver. Slade felt his eyes shutter closed, as he lost himself in the warm soft lips.

Oliver let out a low groan of pleasure, nipping at the edges of Slade’s mouth, deepening the kiss. Slade pressed in further, wanting to get nearer, for there to be more. His hands were still on the staff, still holding it against Oliver’s chest, and now Oliver’s hands were over his own, on the weapon, holding it in place, pulling it closer in, pulling Slade closer in.

Slade started to move away from Oliver’s mouth. He traced the strong line of the other man’s jaw with his tongue, slowly going over the sharp bones and edges.

"Slade,” Oliver moaned his name, arching his back, turning his head and tightening the cord of his throat. It exposed his neck, giving Slade better access.

His tongue moved down the taut column of Oliver’s throat. Licking and kissing and biting as he went. Oliver tasted like grass and sweat and leather and Slade wanted more. He found the pulse in Oliver’s neck, beating fast and hard and strong. Slade took his time there, enjoying the feel of Oliver in his mouth, how he was all his, at his mercy.

“Say it,” Slade growled, his mouth still against Oliver’s skin.

“Ahhh,” Oliver whined with pleasure.

Slade applied a little more pressure with his teeth, “Say it again.”

“You,” Oliver managed, through a clenched jaw, “win.”

Pleased, Slade hummed his approval. He sat back, still on top of Oliver, opening his eyes, and looked at the other man. Oliver’s eyes fluttered open slowly, revealing black, the blue barely visible around his wide pupils.

“Good,” Slade said, his voice husky.

Oliver was breathing shallowly, not moving at all, just looking up at Slade. There was want in his face, need. “Is that going to happen every time I manage to get in a hit?”

“You won’t know,” Slade smirked. “Unless you surprise me again.”


End file.
